The Darkness Within
by Neocolai
Summary: Why can't Grindelwald be redeemed like every other Beast? Newt recalls his first face-off against the dark wizard. Some men are monsters, while others create them. (Genfic)


**Disclaimer: If I owned Fantastic Beasts, there would've been a little more Newt-centered angst speckled throughout The Crimes of Grindelwald. Sadly, I can only reimagine the script through pieces of fanfiction. No profit earned here, folks, unless you want to drop a couple of reviews in the niffler's donation cup.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"We're going after her, aren't we?"

It was dark inside the cramped shed, and scarcely homey. Surrounded by cluttered tables and the lows of contented beasts, Jacob felt more like Joseph in the barn than a No-Maj in a wizard's suitcase.

 _Joseph had something I ain't got,_ Jacob considered glumly, staring into the solitary lantern on the table. _He never lost his girl_ _ **.**_ _They raised a baby together. Me? I got nothing._

He'd sold the bakery under Queenie's influence. He'd have done it in a heartbeat anyways, just to follow her to London, but that choice had been taken out of his hands. She'd toyed with his heart, run off on her own, and then left him for the most evil wizard of them all.

"Can't we get her back?" Jacob prompted again. He glanced over at Newt and sighed. The Brit was in his usual abstract world of miscellaneous wizarding stuff, running his fingers carefully through the niffler's singed fur. "Hey, Newt. Care to spend a moment with the non-magical part of the realm?"

"What?" Breaking out of his trance, Newt glanced at him disorientedly and then shook his head. "No. No, I'm sorry, Jacob. There's nothing we can do. She's made her choice."

"We aren't even going to try to follow her?" Jacob prodded. "C'mon, Newt. If Tina was there - "

"If Tina was there, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Newt said tightly. He swept to his feet, rummaging through bottles and vials without direction. "She's an auror. We'd all be dead."

"Whoah - whoah!" Jacob exclaimed, ducking as a fist-sized globe flew past his shoulder. "Look, we're all upset. Can't we just talk about it for a minute?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Newt retorted. He seized a small jar and hastened to the table, popping off the cap to scoop out a dollop of greasy salve with his fingers. "None of that now, it doesn't smell that bad," he coaxed, tossing the jar onto the table so that he could hold the squirming niffler in place.

Intrigued, Jacob took a quick whiff of the jar. The odor was minty and slightly earthy, with a fresh tint of pungent spruce. "What is it?"

"Burn salve," Newt said, spreading it lightly over the niffler's wriggling limbs. "Helps the healing process; keeps her from scratching when it starts to itch. Don't fuss now, it's for your own good."

Disgusted, the black creature oozed out of the wizard's hands and scrambled under the table, dashing out of the shed before any more horrible concoctions could be pulled from the shelves. Shaking his head, Newt leaned against the table and rubbed the remaining grease onto his hands. There were a few light pink marks streaking up under his sleeves that Jacob hadn't noticed before. Seems the fire hadn't left everyone untouched.

"Look," he said softer, trying to broach the matter without poking the dragon that was prowing under Newt's calm demeanor. "That girl… she said you never met a monster you couldn't love. I just wondered… ? Why can't you find something good in Grindelwald? Can't you convince him to … just stop being evil?"

Newt tensed, and Jacob waited pensively, trying to emulate calmness to the tumultuous wizard. _Take it slow,_ he thought. _We've all lost someone tonight._

"People aren't like animals, Jacob..." Newt said at last. "Animals aren't evil by nature. They strike out in fear, or in pain, or if someone else is controlling them. Grindelwald's not like that."

"Then why's he doing this?" Jacob challenged, the sense loss and terror sweeping over him anew. "Why, Newt? What's he got against everybody?"

Absently capping the salve jar, Newt returned it to the shelf and began sorting the disheveled stash. "Some people don't need a reason."

Something wasn't adding up. There was more shaking up Newt than the anxiety of near-death, or the betrayal of a fellow wizard. "You're talking like you've met him before," Jacob guessed. "Before New York and everything after."

Gnawing at the corner of his lip, Newt strode over to the baby niffler cage and opened it, tucking one mottled infant into his palm. He carefully closed the cage, minding the grabbing paws of the other siblings, and leaned against it, stroking two fingers down the niffler's spine. "I didn't know it was him at the time," he said at last. I thought it was a poacher, or a pest eradicator... one of the types who doesn't care if he damages the merchandise."

Ponderously Jacob glanced between the niffler and the wizard who was singularly focused on smoothing down each individual, errant strand of fur. "So what'd he do?"

Hazel eyes shot towards him, burning with anger as fierce as the flames that had cindered the wizards inside the tomb. Newt's answer was vague: a streak of lightning encased in a prism of deliberate calm. "The creature was poaching from _him_ , you might say. I might have stepped in his way…."

* * *

 _London, 1923_

Rain. Rain in London was the complaint he heard the most whenever someone stopped him on the street.

" _Oh dear, it looks as if it's about to rain."_

" _Bother it all! Rain again this morning."_

 _"Mind you take an umbrella, young man. You'll catch your death in this awful weather!"_

The least drizzle brought down soot from the chimneys, turning it into a faint, silver-grey deluge, tainting the air and leaving faint streaks on every surface. Rain was dirty. Rain was cold, and wet. Rain was bothersome to muggles and wizards alike.

Rain created the most equitable weather for stepping out. No one stopped to chat as they rushed by him, eager to move as quickly as possible from the rumbling cab to their dank homes where they could light the hearth. No one troubled him with petty talk, inquiring about his health, about his brother, about a thousand menial questions that he had to _think_ about when his mind was occupied elsewhere. No one spared him a glance if he was nosing around flower pots, sniffing about oddly, searching for the magical essence of some lost and unhappy creature. Rain kept people away and brought the animals out. Rain was a guide. A seer. A friend.

Rain was what led him to the narrow alley behind a questionable artifacts shop, when the deluge exploded into a downpour that no magical umbrella could withstand, forcing him to seek shelter from knifing droplets as the wind pummeled his back. Drenched, shaking, and acknowledging for one that normal people were smart enough to stay indoors in this sort of weather, Newt flicked his sodden sleeves and swept his hair out of his face before tucking his hands under his arms. Tonight, the rain was dismal and cold. Not even a kelpie would enjoy a romp in this torrent. Blinking water out of his eyes, Newt leaned against the wall, prepared to tuck in until the cascade eased. No sense apparating in this sort of weather. He could walk home just as easily in ten minutes, and his spells were still a bit dodgy when his wand got wet. Theseus wouldn't be happy if he splinched himself. Again.

Water clattered from the gutter overhead, spattering the ground in a fluttering sheet. Puddles sloshed under wheels, muffling the bleat of automobile horns. Even the clatter of the local bicyclist who couldn't afford proper tires was muted in the downpour. It was a wonder Newt heard the distressed squeal at all.

Whipping out his wand, he swerved instantly, ears straining for the faint cry. He squinted into the curtain of water for a flicker of movement; the slumping tread of an animal in pain. The cry came again, the long, high-pitched wail of a terrified creature, and Newt flung himself heedlessly into the spate.

Dodging around a corner, wand braced before him, his hand rummaging in his pocket for a soggy biscuit (he'd foolishly left all of his lures in his case), Newt skidded through the slurry of muddy water, quickly absorbing the grim pose of a man hunched just shy of the lantern light, a small, wriggling lump in his hands, the glint of a silver chain looped over his wrist.

"Let it go," Newt warned quietly.

His calm demand stilled the man's wand, though the creature continued to squeal piteously. Stepping forward, Newt minutely dipped his wand, mentally sorting the list of spells Theseus had taught him and wondering if he would need to stun the wizard or merely accio the poor creature and apparate, rain or none. Perhaps he could avoid a confrontation entirely.

Or perhaps he could just keep walking, as Theseus would protest. Well, too late for that now. Struggling to keep his voice calm, though his hand trembled with disgust, Newt said once more, "Put it down. You've got your trinket back. You don't need to hurt it."

At last the man turned to face him. The dark-furred, mole-like creature pawed despairingly at the hand encasing it, chittering as pale fingers tightened around its middle. A niffler, just as Newt had suspected. Poor creature had picked the wrong wizard's pocket, or perhaps it had simply run afoul of a professional thief. Pesky as they were, nifflers were invaluable in gold heists.

"Are you talking to me, boy?" the man asked. His voice was soft; trancelike, like a cobra hovering over a mongoose, warning it away from its nest.

Theseus' warnings railed in his head, telling him to move along; to stop interfering; to just think sensibly for once and stop throwing himself into a confrontation every time a billiwig was stepped on. Wand wavering slightly, as though its very core despised this necessary evil of harming another human being, Newt slid another step closer. "Put it down now. Please."

Sighing, the man turned to face the lamp light. His pale right eye gleamed cynically, yet his voice was soothing as he answered, "There's no need to interfere. You're going to be late getting home. Let me clear a path for you."

A leisurely flick of the wizard's wand, and the rain parted in a streaming path, the glow of torchlight on droplets illuminating a winding trail. "Off you go," the man coaxed.

It was oddly like the tone Theseus used when trying to coddle a snarling kneezle. The same sort of influx he used when trying to warn Newt to _stay out of the way for once_. Rankled, Newt twirled his wrist. "Accio niffler."

The light reached him before his lips could form the spell. Yelping, Newt saw white and felt his wand slip from his grasp as his back met the wall. Grey swarmed his vision, blotting out the dizzying motion of polished boots sloshing towards him. Groaning, Newt hauled himself against the wall and blinked the darkness away, raising a hand to the warmth dripping from his temple.

"There now," the man said in a troubled voice, "No need to be vexing. Lie back down like a good chap, unless you want them to find pieces of you in the morning."

No matter how many times Theseus had implored him to do as he was told, no matter how many times his patented impetuousness had propelled him to Saint Mungo's, he couldn't stand the weary patience of adults as they rolled their eyes and told him to stay in line, pay attention, don't provoke another wizard, and never, ever interfere if that wizard appears to be more powerful. The same indulgent depreciation oozed from this man's voice, and the patronization rankled Newt more than the sharp pain lancing through his head. Locking his knees in place, he leaned against the wall and jutted out his chin. That was the pose Theseus hated the most, he recalled - the _your-stubbornness-will-kill-you-one-day_ posture that irked his brother to no end.

It wasn't helping today, either. Stars swarm in Newt's vision as he blinked back to awareness, six feet away from where he had been standing. The older wizard sighed. "Such a waste of spirit," he said regretfully. He released the niffler and Newt flinched as it landed in a puddle, crawling away from its cruel handler. Its sad eyes locked onto him and it shivered. Pests, they called such creatures, but they were so _useful_. If only people knew how intelligent nifflers were; how uncanny they were at tracking lost items, how easily they could find -

The thought was lost as pain jolted down Newt's spine, locking him in a twisted arch as white-hot rivulets seared through skin and bone, flashing down from the back of his eyes to the tips of his numb feet. " _Crucio,_ " the wizard murmured, and the spell released.

No, no he couldn't know that kind of spell. No one was that cruel, not here in London. No one would do that to an animal, let alone a…

Fire gripped him again, juddering through each limb, contorting him in the pooling rain as he bashed his head against the puddles, trying to escape. _Make it stop! Think! Counter-spell, have to… stop, stop,_ _ **stop…**_ _!_

Blinding light filled his vision, shearing the spell and ending the pain. Trickles of red light glowed behind his closed eyes as the cruciatus faded away. Gasping, he rolled to his knees, fumbling for his wand. No, it wasn't here. It must be halfway across the alley. Only a soggy biscuit in his pocket. There must be something useful around -

"Oye! Kid, you okay?"

Blindly Newt clawed at the hands on his shoulders, falling back into the puddle and heaving himself backward until his shoulder hit the wall. The murky clouds in his vision were fading. Too slowly. Splashes on either side told him he was outnumbered, and without a wand he was going to be hurting very soon.

"He's half barmy. Where'd that other bloke go? Blimey, this 'uns had a tonking. You with me, Kid? Deep breaths, now."

Vision clear, Newt huffed a weak, relieved sigh. The piercing headlights of the Knight Bus illuminated the alley, empty of all save the bus driver, the conductor, and a limping, miserable mop of sodden fur. Rolling to the side, Newt gathered the niffler up and recoiled back to his knees, tucking it under his coat before accepting the conductor's proffered hand.

"Pets on board at your own risk," the conductor warned. "Any other luggage?"

"Wand," Newt rasped. "Lost it."

Casting him a shrewd look, the conductor jerked his head towards the bus. "Git on board," he said. "I'll fetch it."

Shivering, Newt nodded gratefully and stumbled to the bus doors. He gripped the railing, bracing himself for the terrible climb, and hauled himself up the three steps. The lights dimmed momentarily and he caught the overhead rail, dragging himself the necessary four feet and falling into the first bunk on the right.

"Saint Mungo's for this one," the conductor murmured as he closed the doors behind him. A familiar wooden reed slid into Newt's hand as a blanket was flung over his shoulders. "You'll be alright, mate. Any family you want contacted?"

 _No need_ , Newt thought grimly. _Theseus will be informed before the receptionist knows I'm coming._ He was going to be mad. Livid, maybe. Determined to confiscate Newt's wand, without a doubt. But he'd get over it after he was finished scolding. He'd probably even spare the lecture about how nifflers attach to their mother figures and this one wouldn't survive without Newt's care from now on. He might not even wait until Newt was on his feet before crushing him in an unbearably protective hug.

Theseus was like that.

And as long as the soft-eyed, shivering creature clutched against his chest was healed properly, Newt might not even mind the lectures. Theseus already knew he was wasting his breath, anyways.

He never did as he was told.

* * *

"A lotta people are mean to animals," Jacob said waveringly, searching for the element that could pervade the tragic reminiscence and kindle the perspective of a brighter outcome. "Maybe they can learn better… Newt, is there even…. Is there even a _chance?_ "

The look Newt cast him was grim, chiseled by memories of dragon flames and flashes of green light. "You know, Jacob."

Yeah, he knew. The bad guy wasn't going to get any better. The man who had tortured a niffler had now murdered some of the Ministry's best witches and wizards. He nearly burned down all of Paris, and somehow he had still cajoled Queenie into believing that his was the better way. This man wasn't a monster.

He was the one who inspired them all.


End file.
